Just as Xu Fengnian was about to seek the so-called sword aura from the mute sword fanatic, a shrill, pig-slaughter-like wail erupted, carrying the heart-wrenching despair of someone who had lost both parents. With a chuckle, Xu Fengnian turned around to see a massive meatball tumbling toward him. He swiftly blocked the three-hundred-pound projectile with the scabbard of his embroidered winter blade. The only person who dared to shamelessly grovel before the young prince with such naked sycophancy was the rotund oddity known as Chu Lushan.
Upon spotting the sun-darkened Xu Fengnian, the hefty man nicknamed “Lucky Ball” burst into tears, half-squatting with great effort at the prince’s feet, his plump white hands clutching the scabbard as he sobbed uncontrollably.
Xu Fengnian adored Lucky Ball’s theatrical antics—each performance delighted him anew. As for their sincerity? As long as the Xu family’s royal banner stood tall, they were as genuine as could be.
Drawing the scabbard back, Xu Fengnian lightly patted the chubby cheeks of the esteemed Longwu General of the Thousand Oxen. “Stand up and speak. A third-rank military officer kneeling before me—I’ve never heard of you kneeling for your parents. In fact, rumor has it you often take your frustrations out on them. What kind of behavior is that? By the way, Lucky Ball, have you finished the task Xu Xiao assigned you?”
Chu Lushan, too busy to wipe away the buckets of sweat from his climb up Wudang Mountain, struggled to his feet, his mountainous flesh wobbling precariously. One had to wonder how his maids and concubines endured the crushing weight of three hundred pounds. The spherical sycophant grinned obsequiously. “Mostly done. The rest is being monitored—no room for error. Just awaiting your inspection, my prince. As for my parents? They’re a disgrace, only good for birthing me. Why should I kneel to them? But you, my prince—heroic, divine, monopolizing eight-tenths of the world’s talent! Now that you’ve mastered the blade, you’re truly a scholar and warrior combined. I’d gladly kneel to death for you. This mountain is no place for humans! I boldly beg you to return to the palace. Oh, and during my travels, I found a pair of delightful twin lotus blossoms in Jiangnan—barely fifteen but already voluptuous as mature beauties. Ready for plucking, my prince!”
Xu Fengnian’s face darkened. “Twin lotus blossoms?”
Realizing he’d somehow offended the prince, Chu Lushan’s mind raced until he recalled the toothless old servant whose second sword technique was named “Twin Lotus Blossoms.” The fat man immediately slapped himself twice—hard—leaving his face crimson with regret. “This lowly one deserves death!”
Xu Fengnian slung an arm around Chu Lushan’s shoulders, grinning. “Look at us, getting all distant. I was just teasing—did you really take it seriously? That’s what deserves a slap.”
Lucky Ball nodded vigorously and delivered two more resounding slaps, putting every ounce of his nursing strength from last night into them.
Chu Lushan was infamous in Liang for atrocities too numerous to record—chief among them, kidnapping new mothers to “nurse” from them. If their milk pleased him, they were sent home with silver. If not, their breasts were carved off.
Yet this wolf among men was nothing but a loyal dog in the Liang palace. A dog who had once carried Xu Xiao on his back in battle, taking eleven sword strikes for him. Thus, when Xu Xiao became prince, he granted Chu Lushan eleven pardons for capital crimes.
The other adopted sons of Xu Xiao despised Chu Lushan. Yuan Zuozong never spared him a glance, while the Butcher Chen Zhibao vowed to one day light his corpse as a lantern.
Leading Chu Lushan to the Elephant Washing Pond, Xu Fengnian enjoyed the cool air as the rotund man gingerly scooped water onto his face. “You didn’t climb all this way just to wail at me, did you?”
Lucky Ball looked up, grinning. “Just some amusing gossip to relieve your mountain solitude, my prince.”
Xu Fengnian’s interest piqued. “How thoughtful. Go on.”
Sitting heavily on a rock, Chu Lushan launched into his tales. “First, the Wu family’s Sword Mausoleum produced a prodigy—Wu Liuding. At twenty, he left to challenge renowned swordsmen, undefeated so far. He’s heading to Yuewang Sword Pool—should be quite the spectacle. Though he’s yet to face a first-rank master, six or seven seasoned experts have fallen to his blade. But compared to yours, his swordplay is mere embroidery!”
Xu Fengnian smirked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, urging him to continue.
Wiping sweat that had already warmed on his face, Lucky Ball pressed on. “Next two involve the Second Princess. Two weeks ago, while invigilating at Shangyin Academy, she rated a former Shu scholar’s poem as ‘unbearable.’ When he demanded to know who *could* meet her standards, she tore into every literary giant in the realm! She called Song Qimen’s lyrics ‘decadent brothel drivel,’ dismissed Yuan Jiang and his ilk as ‘technically skilled but shallow,’ and even criticized her own teacher, Su Huang, for ‘lacking substance like a poor man’s beauty.’ When the scholar dared mention Li Fujian, the so-called ‘Immortal of Lyrics,’ she scoffed that his works ‘couldn’t even be sung!’”
Chu Lushan paused, breathless but exhilarated. Oddly, while Xu Zhihu loathed him, the illustrious Xu Weixiong bore him no grudge and never interfered with his friendship with Xu Fengnian.
The prince laughed. “The scholars must be frothing!”
Lucky Ball chuckled darkly. “Indeed. When one dared publish an article calling her arrogant, I had his fingers chopped off.”
Xu Fengnian tactfully ignored that. “And the last matter?”
Chu Lushan’s face twisted with rage. “Some upstart challenged the Second Princess to ten chess matches, emulating the ancient ‘Danghu Ten Games.’”
Xu Fengnian blinked. “She accepted?”
“Played all ten,” the fat man growled. “Five wins each.”
“On the twelve-line board, not her nineteen-line creation?”
At Chu Lushan’s nod, Xu Fengnian smiled. “Meaning he wasn’t worthy of facing her true mastery.”
The murderous glint faded from Lucky Ball’s eyes, replaced by smug pride.
Xu Fengnian stretched. “All this reminds me—my sister disapproves of my swordsmanship. I’ll need to flatter her properly when I descend.”
Lucky Ball’s eyes crinkled shut in delight.
Rising, Xu Fengnian said, “I must train. On your way down, grab some cucumbers from the garden. A meat-lover like you could use greens to live longer.”
Chu Lushan scrambled up, tears of gratitude in his eyes.
Stripping to his waist, Xu Fengnian left his blade ashore and dove into the deep pool.
Lucky Ball plucked two cucumbers—one for each hand—and began his descent along the southern pilgrim path. After a mile, rejoining his guards, he fell silent, devouring even the cucumber ends. When his battle-hardened captain joked about his “refined taste,” Chu Lushan backhanded him without hesitation, sending teeth flying. The man swallowed blood and fragments, prostrating in terror.
The jovial sycophant of moments ago now stared impassively ahead. Glancing back at the cloud-piercing Lotus Peak, he murmured, “I truly don’t belong on mountains.”
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